Empirical research
by GratiaPlena
Summary: Empirical : \im-ˈpir-i-kəl\ : relying on experience or observation alone often without due regard for system and theory. Continues from the mattress scene of episode 3x08. Maura's point of view. M-rated one-shot.


**Disclaimer I :** I don't own these characters, and I wish that the people who do would realize they have romantic gold in their hands.

**Disc**l**aimer II :** I'm not bitter.

**Artistic license:** Jane has stopped seeing Casey. She got bored of him. He was never around, and he was no fun to go on rollerblading dates with. (True story.)

Enjoy!

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"Can I come?" I ask. It can be interpreted as an innocent inquiry into whether I am welcome at her fantasy wedding, but I know I'm on thin ice. We're lying on a mattress on her living room floor, it's a hot summer evening, I've had a bit of wine and I'm midway my hormonal cycle; my libido is at its peak. I'm deeply attracted to Jane and I know from her body language that she feels a deep attraction to me too. It's dangerous to flirt now.

"Maaaybe…," she replies. Game on, then.

"Okay."

She turns sideways to face me. Her beautiful features are relaxed, she's smiling and looks so kissable.

I realize I have to stop this line of thinking right now, or I will no longer be willing or able to stop myself from acting on it. I press my head back into the mattress. Think, Maura. Rationalize this situation. I recite in my head the well-rehearsed list of pro's and cons. The pros easily outweigh the cons, with the exception of the most important one:

I have failed to research woman-woman intimate relationships sufficiently. I couldn't research this topic at work, of course. And at home, whenever I tried to research it, my imagination went into over-..overgear? I have to ask Jane about that expression. In any case, instead of doing research I ended up spending what Vogue's May issue of 2005 termed "quality alone time" with myself instead of gaining knowledge. Not that this is unhealthy. It is perfectly normal for an unattached female of my age to engage in self-pleasuring activity. It relieves stress and enhances the immune system. But it has left me feeling utterly unprepared.

But then… _Look at her! Just look at her.  
_I tip my head sideways and smile.

She is still smiling at me, but her eyes look serious and search mine.  
I know she asked me over because she is looking for something, anything, to take her mind off of the fact that she just killed her fourteenth person. It was a justified, necessary kill; she was doing her job and doing it well. But that doesn't take away her sense of guilt over having taken yet another life. She needs distraction or else she is going to end up in a very dark mood. I know her.

Sexual activity would sufficiently distract her. And our friendship would survive, or otherwise evolve, I'm quite confident. I can so easily help her, and myself. If only I am willing to abandon my fear of unpreparedness and embrace empirical research instead.

_Fear is a bad counselor_, I berate myself.  
_Right._ I take a deep breath. I'm sure it is strongly influenced by hormones, wine and heat, but I've made my decision. It's now or never.

"A Red Sox jersey..?" I scold her playfully.

"Okay. You are in **my** fantasy. You cannot tell me what to wear!"

I laugh and turn to face her. "I'm in your fantasy now, am I? De-_tec_-tive!"

She has the grace to blush a little. To strengthen my resolve, I decide to go one further. I keep my voice light and playful. "Is this what you tell all the girls when you lure them onto your mattress? Do you entice them with Pinot Noir and tell them they are in your wedding fantasy?"

"You got me," she laughs. "Is it working?"

I don't think she has caught on to the fact that I mean business now. She wouldn't still be flirting so readily.

"It is," I tell her. "So tell me, and I ask this with great trepidation... What am **I** wearing in **your** fantasy?"

She thinks about it for a moment. "A baseball cap," she then says with a wicked glint in her eyes.

I am reminded – as I'm sure is her intention – of the one time I accompanied her to a baseball café, and she tried to get me to wear that hideous piece of headwear. I had only just redone my hair. So no – just no.  
But two can play this game.

"Just a baseball cap? Nothing else?" I ask her. I see her pupils widen, the artery in her throat starting to pulse, and her breathing becoming more shallow.

"Maur..!" she warns. This is usually the moment at which I abandon our flirting and take us back to safer ground. But I'm determined to see this through now.

"If you get to decide what **I** wear in **your** fantasy, it's only fair that I get to decide what **_you_** wear in **mine**...," I muse.

Her eyes still hold her warning, but I can also see curiosity flickering in them.

"Let's see…it's Santorini in summer. It will be hot." This is a fun exercise for my mind. What does Jane wear on a hot day in my fantasy? It doesn't take me long to decide.

"You're in my dressing room as the guests are starting to arrive. You are helping me into my dress." I let her mind process that image for a moment, and then continue to describe what I want my bride to wear: "Later on you will be changing into a cream white blouse and a black Armani three-quarter sleeved jacket and two inch simple black heels." In my mind I picture how beautifully that outfit would offset my fantasy wedding dress. Our wedding pictures would be glorious. But I file this thought away for a future day-dream. I need to focus on my task at hand.

"But it's too hot to already wear the full suit. So for now…" I pause a moment to gather my courage. _Empirical research is an entirely justified way of getting familiar with a subject_, I tell myself. _I can do it._ "So for now - in my fantasy - you are wearing black slacks and a white tank top."

I see her heartbeat intensifying and she is holding her breath. She has caught on to what I'm doing. I have described the exact outfit she is wearing right now and I have labeled it my fantasy. I don't think I could have been any more blunt about my intentions.

I'm afraid that I will lose my bravado if I look up into her eyes. Instead I let my eyes wander down her body.

"The slacks," I say as I let my hand trail over her upper leg, "are part of the Armani suit. The tank top…" I take the hem of it between thumb and index finger, letting my other fingers touch her skin underneath, "is to catch sweat on a hot Italian…I mean on a hot Greek day."

I'm getting aroused by just the thought of what I am about to do next. I realize I no longer have to suppress my body's reaction to hers. I let a shudder run through me and allow my breathing to noticeably quicken. She needs to know that I'm not just doing this as a way to distract her, but that I also do this for me – because I want her. I let my hand disappear underneath her tank top. My hand, trembling from arousal and nerves, slowly slides up along her torso to the hem of her bra. "You are wearing a sports bra, just like this one. "

Her breathing is now labored. "Maur.." she whispers in warning again. I take no heed. My hand trails down towards the top of her slacks. I slide my thumb underneath, and underneath the elastic waistband of her underwear. "And boy shorts" I conclude, leaving my hand where it is, trying to suppress the urge to push her onto her back, climb on top of her and kiss her senseless.

I need to have patience now. I have put my cards on the table. It's her turn to accept or reject. I wait.

"Maur," she whispers again. "What are you doing?"

I realize she hasn't moved away from my touch.

"I'm seducing you," I tell her openly. "I have been attracted to you for a very long time, and I know from your body language that the feeling is mutual. You need distraction tonight, and I need release. I am midway my hormonal cycle," _Oh stop, it!_ my brain screams. _You're ruining it, stop!_ But the words continue to tumble out of me. "My LH spikes, which triggers my ovulation, which in turn causes me to seek a sexual partner to fertilize the follicle that…that…" My mouth finally catches up with my brain's alarm signal to STFU. Oh god, I completely ruined the mood now. I close my eyes firmly and wait for Jane to move away from me.

But instead she presses her forehead against mine. I feel her breath on my lips as she whispers: "LH?"

"Luteinizing Hormone," I clarify, because I just can't flipping help myself. "It's one of the hormones produced in the anterior pituitary gland. Its spike causes my ovaries to release a follicle and …anyway."

"Pitititwary?" she breathes, as I feel her abdominal muscles clench underneath my hand. I realize with a start that I didn't ruin the mood with my babbling at all. It turns her on! I move my hand from underneath her waistband, across her abdomen to her back and trail up her spine, underneath her soft, beautiful curls up to the base of her head. I gently tangle my fingers into her hair.

"Pituitary. It's located here. It's a gland that sits at the base of the brain. It's also known as the adenohypophysis. Several…"

She doesn't let me finish. She tips her head and her lips touch mine, very briefly and very softly.

She then moves away from me slightly. "Maur?" I am trying to process the overwhelming feeling of her lips on mine and only belatedly realize that she is waiting for me to open my eyes and look at her. As I do so, I see that she is requesting permission, making absolutely sure we are on the same page here. I nod.

I feel her hands wrapping themselves around my waist, pulling me closer. I bury my other hand into her hair as well and pull her into a kiss.  
The kissing turns frantic in a matter of seconds and before long it leaves us both wanting more.

"I want…I need..I don't know what to do," she says, and sensing my own insecurity she adds: "But I want it."

"Me too. But I don't know how to proceed either. I haven't been able to do enough research…"

"Really? Really, you're telling me you've done research on this?"

"Not enough." I look away.

She laughs. "Well, at least you know more than me. What…" she waves a hand in the air. "Where to start?

She still wants to try anyway? Even though we have no theoretical framework? A spark of happiness and relief flutters in my stomach.

"Or hey,…maybe we should just take it as it comes. No pun intended," she grins and kisses me gently.

"That's perhaps the wisest course of action," I agree. "Besides, women have so many erogenous zones that…"

"That you can be sure I'll manage to hit at least one?" she laughs and kisses me.

"That's one way to look at it," I laugh as well. I kiss her again and then take her hand and guide it up to my breast. "Here, this…" and then all coherence escapes me as she gently strokes my breast through my silk blouse and bra. My nipple instantly hardens and as a moan escapes me I pull her into me and kiss her deeply. I put my hand underneath her top and pull down the cup of her bra enough to be able to touch her skin and nipple. She pulls away from my kiss to catch her breath as she whispers soft "Hhohhh"s.

In my imagination I always thought she'd moan in that low, gravelly voice of hers. That aspect of the fantasy has tipped me over the edge many a time. But reality is even more arousing than fantasy.

It actually makes a lot of sense that she isn't vocal, given that her first sexual encounters took place in half hidden public situations in her school's yard. Being loud would attract an unwanted crowd. Hm. My brains wants to pursue this thought further, but her other hand moves down my leg and then up my inner thigh. I abandon all thinking and press into her hand. I half-hartedly try to open the concealed button of my slacks, but it's not worth the effort. I already feel the build up to an orgasm take hold of me and I want to feel her. I glide both my hands underneath her top and underneath the elastic of her sports bra. I moan loudly as I keep pressing into her. I kiss her neck and shoulders as she sighs those tantalizing Hhohhs into my hair, and I rhythmically move my hips. Too soon an orgasm crashes over me and I bite down into her shoulder to somewhat stifle a loud cry.

"Ow..Maur, ouch," she laughs as she lifts up my head a bit. "You've actually drawn blood!"

I apologise profoundly, and kiss her shoulder, but she laughs it off. "It'll heal. I guess that was okay then, yeah?"

"I guess it was," I smile. "Want to know how okay?" She nods and nervously swallows. I kiss her and return to stroking her breast. I can deliciously take my time with her now that my own first needs are met. I avoid touching her nipple for a while, and then when I suddenly do, she stops kissing me and the gorgeous Ohhhhh sighs return. I look at her face. Her eyes are closed and she has a look of utter concentration. She is so beautiful. I slide the straps of her top and bra off her shoulders and kiss her chest, moving clothing and bra further down and kissing down to a nipple. 'Hhhhhah' she sighs as I take it into my mouth, simultaneously moving my hand down and into her shorts. I feel the wirey curls of her hair and move further down to find her wet with anticipation. As my fingers slide onto her clit, she jerks and sits up. Quickly letting herself drop down again, grabbing my hair with both hands as I keep sucking and kissing her nipples. I unbutton her slacks and slide my hand back into her shorts. My hand finds her clit again and I begin to rhythmically stroke it. Her hips rock to meet my hand.

Suddenly the door to her apartment opens with a creak and heavy footsteps clunk into the room. Jane's neighbor Riley stands in the doorway. "The door was ajar and I saw the light was on, so I wanted to…" Jane pulls up her top in an effort to cover up somewhat, but our hair is tousled, our breathing labored, and my hand is still in Jane's underwear, as we are lying on a mattress in the living room. I guess it's evident what is going on here.  
"Uh…never mind. I was never here!" Riley turns around and closes the door behind her.

I can't help but laugh at the situation, but Jane looks quite worried. "What is she doing out of jail? Oh god, she will tell Frankie, Frost and my mother!"

"Tell them what?" I inquire playfully, moving closer to her again and slowly, ever so slowly circling her clit with my fingers.

"That…that…" she tries. But with a "Jesussssss…" she gives up.

In a matter of minutes the entire Litany of Saints, the Holy Family and the Trinity are being revered in strangled whispers. Really, the Catholic church should thank me, instead of condemn me for my current actions. Jane takes my hand and pushes it further down. I feel the source of her wetness opening up to my finger as it slides in. "Oh Lord!...Maur…Maur.." she breathes. "No Maur, …M…O…R…E, " she spells, as I realize she wasn't saying my name, but requesting more movement or more fingers. I decide to try the latter, and it proves to be the right decision. She immediately curls her body against mine, grabbing my shoulders with her strong hands and grinding her hips into mine, bumping my own hand against my center. I feel myself getting aroused again, but I want to concentrate on her now, so I sit up and look down on her beautiful body moving with the rhythm of my hand. "Don't look," she sighs. "Hhhah Queen of Heaven…!"

"You're beautiful, so beautiful," I tell her, letting her know she doesn't need to feel embarrassed. I bend down to kiss her everywhere, upping the tempo of my movements.

She then stops breathing and rocking against my hand altogether and I'm worried at first, but I can see that her heart is still beating strongly and I remember that some people starve themselves of oxygen to heighten pleasure. Perhaps this is Jane's way to achieve similar results. I continue to move my fingers in and out of her and stroke her nipples with my other hand, all the while looking down on her beautiful body. Her one hand is wrapped around my wrist, guiding me in finding the right rhythm for her. The other is digging into the mattress. She then suddenly takes in a shuddering breath and trembles all over as I feel her her clench around my fingers and then pulsate. "Gggghhhdamn ," she sighs as her body lets go of all tension. She grabs my wrist to move my hand away.

"Language!" I tell her.

After a few moments another series of trembles travels through her body. She opens her eyes grabs the front of my dress and pulls me down into a kiss. "After what you just did to me? Na-ah." We giggle.

Then her eyes are serious. "Maur, will we be alright?"

"I hope so, I think so," I tell her as I kiss her again. "We both want to be alright, right? We'll figure it out. We always have."

"Yeah," she says, hugging me close to her. "We'll figure it out. Tommorow."  
I feel her hands fumbling at the the front of my blouse.

"Jane? What are you doing?" I ask her.

"Seducing you. I noticed your CH is still a bit high…"

"LH!" I laugh, as she unbuttons my blouse.

"I knew that. Lesbian Hormone, right?" She flips us over and her curls tumble all over my face. It tickles pleasantly.

I laugh. "Something like that, " I wave it away. Quoting Endocrinologists' Weekly isn't my priority right now.

"You're not playing fair. You're deliberately inaccurate. Tell me," she urges, sliding my blouse off my shoulders.

"Luteinizing Hormone."

"Hmm hmm," her dark voice hums against my shoulder.

"Produced in the Anterior Pituitary gland, also known as the adenohypophaaah!"

Her deep laugh rumbles around my nipple . "Really now, doctor!" She looks up at me, and I narrow my eyes in an attempt to give her a warning stare. It's not as effective as it usually is. I give up and tangle my fingers into her hair. "Just kiss me," I demand. She does just that as her hands travel south.

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A/N : Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the story. If you did, please review.

I also welcome critical reviews, since I've never written M-rated stories before, and I've never written about this pairing before and English isn't my first language. Any constructive criticism is therefore most welcome.

Thank you!


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